


like a bullet in the back

by hotmesslewis



Category: Historical RPF, Lewis and Clark
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 22:20:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12351708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotmesslewis/pseuds/hotmesslewis
Summary: "What was it? Love, surely. But something more."





	like a bullet in the back

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired, basically note-for-note, by Florence + the Machine's "Dog Days are Over." Also I SUCK at coming up with summaries for this bullshit so I may have just resorted to pulling a quote for this one i'msorry.

Meriwether Lewis felt like a fool.

The sun was beaming down on him, the breeze was ruffling through his brown hair, and he was alone save for his dog on this fair new land.

And he was laughing.

For no reason whatsoever, Meriwether Lewis was laughing.

He _was_ a fool, that or honest-to-God insane. He was laughing without cause, he was smiling into the breeze, he was talking to his dog, to the land, to himself, and he wasn’t sure which one was the worst.

He resisted the urge to dance and he realized he was singing under his breath, softly, sweetly, an old love song.

_God damn it, Meriwether. What the hell is wrong with you?_

That was an excellent question, really.

Lewis looked back over his shoulder, at the pirogues moving slowly up the river behind him. It was remarkable, the way William Clark’s red hair blazed in the sunlight like a fire in the darkest night. It was remarkable, the way Clark walked down the deck of the boat, so much command in his long strides, so much grace in his form. Clark stopped at the bow and smiled out across the river to Lewis.

Love.

The idea still felt so unwelcome, but so comfortable.

Lewis smiled back, even as he realized, _this was more than just love_.

Love was something he had become accustomed to—he had been so willing to love, holding his love close to him: never willing, never _wanting_ to show it, but loving nonetheless.

_What was it?_ Love, surely. But something more.

_What was it._

A strangeness, a fullness, something more than contentment, something full of hope and delight—

_Happiness._

He felt a chill run down his back as he recognized the sentiment—happiness. Meriwether Lewis was happy, and it was William Clark who made him so. He had known for months ( _for years_ , being honest with himself) that he had loved Clark, that he was in love with Clark, but he hadn’t fully realized that he could be in love and also be happy until this moment.

It was the strength of the knowledge that he was loved in return that hit him with a sharp bullet of happiness in the back of the head.

No.

Not that, not that he loved, not that he was loved in return, but that his love was _accepted_ , fully, gladly, as if it were some kind of gift, or worse ( _better?_ ) still, as if it were something to be desired. By a man like William Clark, at that.

It hurt, this sudden, unexpected joy.

More than that, it terrified him.

A sudden, irrational jolt of fear running through him, a bolting horse. How could William Clark make him so happy? He glanced back at Clark on the deck of the boat, still staring out at him, and he felt suddenly angry.

How _dare_ William Clark? How _dare_ he make Meriwether Lewis happy?

He should have known better.

Because the thing about happiness: it was instability, it was unpredictability, it was insecurity. It could leave him, so easily. And when it left, Christ in heaven, the pain was so much greater then, the pain and the risks brought with it.

Happiness.

He wanted it, so much.

_Could he possibly escape it?_ It was worth a try, Meriwether Lewis supposed. For the sake of his sanity. For the sake of his heart.

The man with feather hair looked down at the large black dog trotting in oblivious contentment beside him. He smiled at the dog and spoke to him. “Good boy, Seaman. I’ll race you!”

They took off running together. He felt like an hawk in flight, he felt like light itself as he tore across the golden landscape, the virgin plains, his blood singing with his heart, the air burning beautifully in his lungs as he pushed himself, harder, further, faster, and he laughed. Meriwether Lewis was racing his dog and trying to outrun his happiness; he lost to both of them.

To be honest, he wasn’t trying very hard.


End file.
